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Do you think a man is the only creature with whom one may fall in love?

Mary MacLane

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Mary MacLane
Age: 48 †
Born: 1881
Born: May 1
Died: 1929
Died: August 6
Film Actor
Historian
Memoirist
Writer
Winnipeg
Manitoba
Love
Think
Thinking
Creature
Sexuality
Creatures
Fall
May
Men

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Fame is indeed beautiful and benign and gentle and satisfying, but happiness is something at once tender and brilliant beyond all things.
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There is really no right and wrong. I recognize no right and wrong.
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However great one's gift of language may be, there is always something that one cannot tell.
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I've never made plans for more than a day ahead.
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Some day the Devil will come to me and say: 'Come with me.'And I will answer: 'Yes.
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I have read of women who have been strongly, grandly brave. Sometimes I have dreamed that I might be brave. The possibilities of this life are magnificent.
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I want to live quietly.
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People say of me, 'She's peculiar.' They do not understand me. If they did they would say so oftener and with emphasis.
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Some people say that beauty is a curse. It may be true, but I'm sure I should not have at all minded being cursed a little.
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My intention to lecture is as vague as my intention is to go on the stage. I will never consider an offer to lecture, not because I despise the vocation, but because I have no desire to appear on the public rostrum.
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A genius who does not know that he is a genius is no genius.
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One's thoughts are one's most crucial adventures. Seriously and strongly and intently to contemplate doing murder is everyway more exciting, more romantic, more profoundly tragic than the murder done.
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I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic. I am not generous. I am merely and above all a creature of intense passionate feeling. I feel—everything. It is my genius. It burns me like fire.
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I began to be a woman at twelve, or more properly, a genius.
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Genius, apart from natural sensitiveness, is prone equally to unreasoning joy and to bitterest morbidness.
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I do not see any beauty in self-restraint.
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Well, if I am not vulgar, neither is my book. I wrote myself. Suggestiveness is always vulgar. But truth never. My book is not even remotely suggestive. I call things by their names. That is all.
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Genius of a kind has always been with me an empty heart that has taken on a certain wooden quality an excellent, strong woman's body and a pitiably starved soul.
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Except two breeds - the stupid and the narrowly feline - all women have a touch of the Lesbian: an assertion all good non-analytic creatures refute with horror, but quite true: there is always the poignant intensive personal taste, the flair of inner-sex, in the tenderest friendships of women.
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I read of the Kalamazoo girl who killed herself after reading the book. I am not at all surprised. She lived in Kalamazoo, for one thing, and then she read the book.
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